


roy rogers

by rostovslover



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Consensual Kissing, F/M, Slow Burn, a makeout, because they can, boys in makeup, cursing, i could not stop writing, roger smokes, the storyline is not it, theres drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rostovslover/pseuds/rostovslover
Summary: your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together.
Relationships: Brian May & Reader, Brian May/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	roy rogers

*A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

“One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

“What is this?”

“Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

“That’s so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

“Mum said what?”

“You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That’s according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

“Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

“First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one. 

You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

“Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

The person on the line snorted, “Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

“Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

“Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That’s me, are you looking to schedule one?”

You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

“Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

“Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That’s my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

“We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

“Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

“Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

“Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it’s true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

“Because I like stability David,”

“[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

“If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that’s what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

“Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it’s never just dinner.” You snorted.

“Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

“Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

“You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

“Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

“Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

“Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

“Roger said you’re in a band now, what’s that called?”

His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

“I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.” 

He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

You considered, “Where is it?”

“The Cameo, downtown London.”

“It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

“Wonderful,” He grinned, “It’s a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

“Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What’s he got to do with this?”

“He’s an insufferable little shit, that’s what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He’s a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

“What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It’s alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

“Come on, it’s almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

Brian’s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That’s him?!”

You nodded, “It is,”

“Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

“His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

“Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

“You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

“You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

“I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

“Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there’s a lot of people here.”

He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it’s crowded. There’s a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

“You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

“Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

“With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he’s always been good at everything he tries. It’s really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

“He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

“No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it’s not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

“Absolutely,”

He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him. 

He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

David would never let you hear the end of this either.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm honestly tempted to make a part two,,


End file.
